


Rings Don't Make Good Husbands

by KlaatuDuLak



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fisting, Dildos, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Gang Rape, Happy Ending, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, Ignored Safeword, Kidnapping, Multi, Other, Pegging, Rape/Non-con Elements, Strap-Ons, Tony!Whump, tony is a little rapey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 16:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1717682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KlaatuDuLak/pseuds/KlaatuDuLak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha decides that Tony needs an empathy lesson...or fifty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rings Don't Make Good Husbands

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a free site and this story is not for profit. I do not own these characters, yada yada yada.

Natasha had an allergic reaction to Tony's parties. All the team in one place with their guard either down or interred seemed more foolish than fun. In any case, there was little room for relaxation when trained since childhood to distrust comfort as the surest road to ambush. Almost anyone watching her, however, would assume a dignitary was hosting the party in her own home. She made her way with equanimity through the gauntlet of social dopamine addicts, the placid plus-ones planted around the sofas, and through the dancing grease fire of the amphetamine clique busy reminding everyone that Rock and Roll still means sex. 

The door to the wine cellar was unlocked for the convenience of the catering staff- all too easy to slip in unnoticed. As it was almost an everyday affair they saved the world from annihilation, none would argue against her declaring today worthy of a rare vintage.

Tony’s decorator must have been instructed to strive for hyper-modern everywhere throughout the building, but the wine cellar was decidedly ancient- dust may even have been shipped in for ambience. Motley slate colored stones on the floor and load bearing structures complimented Brazilian rosewood gothic arches and cross hatched mazes of bottle walls. A fifteen-foot-high wall comprised of casks as large as minivans separated the wine from the spirits area. Dimly lit curios with bottles of all shapes and provenance were scattered throughout.

"Now if I were Tony, where would I keep my best vodka?" She halted in front of a mural depicting Tony alone in full battle armor, helm tucked at his side, triumphant over a broken army. Some fresh paint portrayed The Mutant Bugbears of Doctor Kalex- defeated by the team just last week yet now rendered at Tony's out-of-scale feet. Her face betrayed no emotion. Having selected a crystal shot glass from the hutch she turned to scan the vast array of labels.

Natasha stepped into shadow. The vault was assaulted by all the din of a world cup finale. A second later, only the bass line of a predictable Black Sabbath anthem remained. The cellar door lock snapped shut by magnetic bolt. She could make out Tony and Pepper speaking through forceful kisses stumbling down the staircase.

In tones openly mocking a struggle to sound sober, Tony linked to his staff, "Guests will have to make do with the tubs of booze already deployed. I will be selecting inventory until further notice. Over and out." A smirking Tony backed Pepper over to the merlot leather curl of a chaise lounge. He shed his jacket in a heap behind them.

"Ow, my ass is not invincible you know!" Pepper tried to parry his hands to her hips or anywhere less bruised.

"I didn't realize you are such ripe fruit." He locked both her arms with one of his then pulled at the most frustrating of her clothes. "I will be gone for at least three days. I may have to kill one of those bankers with their own cufflinks."

"I thought we agreed that we'd wait until our anniversary before trying anal again." Tony spun her around and bent her over the lounger. “Please stop. Stop! Stop! Stop! Quantum electrodynamics! I said quantum electrodynamics! You’re hurting me!”

Natasha hurled her shot glass at Tony’s portrait.

He turned to approach the sound while Pepper pulled her outfit back together. "Jeeves? I believe I was clear." He glanced back at Pepper. "All my staff likes to be called Jeeves. I think it’s JARVIS envy." Stepping around each isle, he found nothing but broken glass. With no other clues, he returned to his portrait and began to mirror the pose.

"I used the safe word by the way! We really should be getting back. I was this close to persuading Bruce and Loki to let me handle their press release."

Absently, Tony replied, "Fine, fine. You know I'm just a little restless. I'll move up my flight."

"To when? In the middle of your party?"

"Everyone would be disappointed if I didn't act just a bit eccentric." He was on the phone with a gesture. “Move it ahead to now. Don't worry about baggage. I'll just get whatever I need there."

"I packed a bag for you already. It was taken down this morning,” Pepper offered.

Tony glanced up and gave her a quick, tired smile. “Could you get someone to clean this up?”

  
•°•°•  


Tony exited the plane with a drink still in hand, the other free to punctuate his instructions. He brought his mic closer in an effort to be heard over the jet engine still idling on the tarmac. Perhaps it was the long flight or the long years of being pampered by a host of staff and robots, but he did not so much as glance at the man holding open his car door. 

“Welcome to Geneva, Mister Stark.”

He sank back into the leather seat and rolled his eyes. “Just call me back when it’s done. I’m out.”

Tony noticed he had been nodding off at the first stop light. Something felt very wrong. He tried to alert the blur that was his driver, but could not hear his own voice. He fumbled with the intercom then twitched his hand in muted impulse to tap the glass divider. He was suddenly too content to make the effort to open his eyes. He may have heard the car door open, maybe dreamed it, but definitely didn't care.

  
•°•°•  


Natasha's heels and voice began to echo as they entered the large underground bunker. The dozen women with her wore standard issue black, no jewelry- an even mix of tight braids or close cropped. A heavy steel door eventually crashed shut behind them. It seemed that everything was cement in various stages of decay save for a small but elaborate medical station, a stainless steel pillory bench brilliantly lit by a dozen light grids, and a disguised Tony fastened bent over wearing assless shiny black armor. There were handles along his hips and back and enough padding to spare him visible bruises, fingernail cuts and bites.

White clad nurses came to attention at their assigned posts in a broken crescent nearest Tony's head, all supplies at the ready with refills and variations in large rolling stainless chests. The vital sign monitors and the women's eyes, lips and hair were a Caribbean coral reef by contrast.

"This exercise will last for precisely eight hours." Natasha paced along their line to connect with every recruit in turn. "Shifts will repeat in your assigned team order. Relays must maintain a constant crescendo of sodomy. Dildos will progress from relatively small to ever larger. The shapes are not random. Beyond that, you are free to exercise your will with whichever tool is assigned for that round. Questions?"

"Why can't we see his face? It will be difficult to judge my impact." Her pink fire hydrant shaped dildo was wiggling in exaggerated counterpoint to her hips as she shifted forward from her squad.

"Excellent question, Ana. He will be exposed to a crafted soundtrack and imagery as well as a battery of psychotropic compounds. These stimuli are designed to focus the subject on a wedge event in the psyche- facilitating a theoretical questioning phase. He will not be able to hear our conversation so that we may orchestrate the physical component without foreshadowing. The subject will not know who, what, why, when, or how long. We aim for a state beyond the five stages of grief, beyond acceptance- our goal is submission." 

At this, the initiates began to stretch again, hop up their heart rates and tighten their harnesses. Women were recruited from all walks of life, but all had physical ability in common. With some, it was a gymnast’s indefatigable dexterity. Others were a match for any mortal in power or speed. Tragedy, trauma and deep craving for justice brought larger numbers to the ranks than any love of law and order. The testing was continuous. Every day scores were found lacking. It was plain to all that none would progress without exceeding a critical mass of applied energy, enthusiasm and teamwork.

Natasha ran her fingers over one of the hypodermics. A nod later, there was a silent gearbox of activity- each nurse a blur of supporting activities. It was a perfect harmony sired by practice and love of duty. The lubrication tubes mounted over Tony’s ass began to pulse.

"Remember, this is a prisoner who volunteered in exchange for concessions and shall not be maimed or visibly damaged- else you will answer to me." Natasha gazed again at the chains, bolts and leatherworks to make certain all was secure. "But also know that this criminal plundered beyond greed, raped the innocent and will serve a life sentence. Alpha go."

Anastasia flew into Tony's hole like her pelvis was being blown out of an airlock. Vibrations propagated to the hanging bags and drip lines, first in a ragged sine wave, then utter chaos. The numerous restraints did not allow for more than a faint strain of leather scarcely audible between beats of the team music and Anastasia's growling exhalations. Louder still were wet spankings by hips and staccato gurgling as lube was violently forced deeper, some ejected back through the gaps between Tony's rapidly tiring flesh and an implacable silicon shaft.

Anastasia loved this song and had excellent rhythm, but chose to fuck to a super rhythm- favoring a variety of bass line beats with plunges of special vigor, speed or depth. Her brassy pony tail flailed over her shoulder and often whipped around between her legs slapping Tony's protected balls.

But there was no defense for his hole. All the force of an entire honed body was concentrated in a lubed piston that no ass could alone hope to oppose. Any resistance was worse than futile as the shaft would also batter through constricted muscles. At best, flexing only momentarily changed the distance his skin was pulled or how long it shook. At times, the thrusts were so fast the flesh did not have time to spring back fully to its former shape before another plunge.

No foe had ever delivered him so personal or deep an injury. Referred pain left his torso feeling almost entirely displaced- wrenched open by a zombie taking the long route to his brains. Such a large space he had forever known as Tony was no longer himself but owned, occupied and inflamed by the assailant.

The soundproof helmet was not perfectly sealed. Though it was usually redacted by a riot of hydrostatic shocks, the air ventilation hose coupling allowed for a distant agony between music tracks. Ana smiled for the first time in ten years. Accompanied by the sound of a pack of mad dogs devouring a jellyfish, a cave of lubricated exhaustion was quickly wrought.

Sasha was up next. Her harness held a quantum leap of voluminous medical grade black silicon shaped in a corkscrew. She was shouting commands at the deafened Tony, ordering him to take it, to prepare for some real ass pain, and congratulating her team mate for her pace and endurance. As her time neared, she firmly gripped her phallus and made ready to spring, determined not to skip a beat.

  
•°•°•  


Natasha was speaking to the team next in rotation when notified another call had been placed to check on the subject.

Pepper was no fool. The team in charge of the cover trails might be either too subtle or incompetent. She left for the control room to discover which. As the bunker door slowly groaned open, Natasha evaluated the young communications officer. “You know the saying, beards do not make philosophers? Rings do not make good husbands.”

Eight hours should have been enough time to plausibly be incommunicado as in the case of sleep and travel. She did not recall whether Tony had ever confided a bout of insomnia except of course when Bruce and Loki stayed over. But he was familiar, not close.

Since few could know the true identity of the exercise subject, a reply would have to wait for a trusted agent to modify hotel security records and conduct all communications by means that would bear any investigation. Moments later, Pepper received a reply by text stressing an urgent need to catch up on sleep after long travel and a bottle of Château Margeaux.

The contingency charts were up on the movie screen-sized monitor. A ten foot square in the corner tracked Pepper on a 3D wireframe map- another corner rendered a thermograph of the team prepping Tony’s return to civilization.

“Dva.”

The main screen returned to Tony- a scarlet bob joined a first already laughing and wildly fisting him.

  
•°•°•  


The door opened and Pepper jumped to her feet. "Tony! You're back early, what a nice surprise! Is that... Oh how cute!"

"I've been thinking about it and you’re right. We need a cat." A white angora kitten was clearly not content to remain hidden.

"I thought you were mad at me. You didn't return my calls."

Tony began to shuffle forward as if he had ridden home on a stagecoach made of broken glass. "I had some truly nightmarish reception."

Pepper skipped over to deliver a vigorous hug. "Oh thank you! He's so adorable! Does he already have a name?" 

"Not that he is aware of. He did seem to enjoy _Fairies Wear Boots_ on the way- maybe. Ow, take it easy.”

“Are you okay? Is your back bothering you again?” The kitten scrambled up her arm to play with her hair.

“I’ll be okay, eventually. I’ve already taken something- just need to take it easy for awhile.” While Pepper was nuzzling and blinded by fur, he eased face down along the nearest couch with all the grace and tremor of a newborn giraffe. “You know, I've grown a little tired of the hipster club scene. What do you say we stay in- maybe watch a movie and help our furry son here get settled?"


End file.
